


never felt so high (think i'm coming down)

by wewhofightmonsters



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, klaus hargreeves is a human disaster and he deserves hapiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewhofightmonsters/pseuds/wewhofightmonsters
Summary: “Dave,” he whispers, and he leans down to press a kiss, light as a summer breeze, to Dave’s forehead, “Dave, I’m a fucking idiot. I love you back. I love you back.”And as he says it, he knows it to be true, and that small, closed up part of him that has languished in the dark and the constant haze of drugs, unfurls and stretches out towards the light.“I love you back,” he says again, in wonder.(Klaus and Dave, and second chances)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because it always comes back to reincarnation, with me.

“What, if some day or night, a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness, and say to you: 'This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh...'

 Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him:

'You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.”

 

\- Friedrich Nietzsche

 

* * *

 

 Month Seven

 

 The sun rises hot and hazy, here in the jungle; shimmering like a mirage and breathing heavy fog into the air. Klaus watches the curling trail of his cigarette smoke as it drifts upwards, grinds the butt out in the dirt, and thinks to himself that he’d never seen a morning like this, back home. Here, in the midst of death, and bloody despair, there is beauty that takes his breath away.

“Klaus?” a deep voice rumbles from behind him, and strong arms wind around his waist. Klaus leans his head back against Dave’s shoulder, and turns to look into sky blue eyes.

“You’re up early, baby,” Dave hums against his neck, stifling a yawn. Klaus lets his eyes drift shut, allows Dave’s smell and the steady rise and fall of his chest to wash away the lingering darkness of the nightmare he’d woken from. He wonders what Ben would say, if he were here. Would he be glad for Klaus? Urge him to go back to his own time, to their family?

It doesn’t matter, and there’s no point dwelling on it. He’s made his choice, he’s found his person. Maybe this war will take him, like it’s taken so many others, and maybe it won’t. Whatever happens, whatever the outcome, living here, covered in mud and scars with screams ringing in his ears, and Dave’s hand clasped tightly in his own, he’s found a happiness more complete than he’d ever known he could experience. He’ll hold on until his fingers bleed, to keep this. To keep him.

The time is 5:45 AM, ICT. Klaus has been in Vietnam for seven months.

 

 Month One

 

“Jesus _fucking_ shit!” Klaus gasps, stopping for a moment to lean heavily against a tree, taking deep, shuddering breaths and hoping that the queasiness in his stomach will pass.

Dave must notice Klaus has stopped following, and he turns and runs back over to where he’s slumped by the side of the trail.

“Private?” he asks, frowning with concern, “Klaus? You feeling okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just… peachy,” Klaus says weakly, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. When he drops his shirt back down, he notices that Dave’s eyes snap quickly back up to his face, almost like they’d-

“We should get going,” Dave says, clearing his throat, and reaches out a hand to help Klaus steady himself.

“KEEP IT MOVIN’ BOYS, OR YOU’RE ON LATRINE DUTY TONIGHT!” Sergeant Cooper yells as he jogs briskly past.

“You think he came out of his mommy shouting like that?” Klaus mutters darkly, and Dave laughs, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind,” he says warmly, and Klaus feels a fluttering in his gut that he tries to pass off as nausea.

“I, uh. I’m probably withdrawing, just so you know,” he says, trying for flippant, “I can keep going, but. Might need to stop and puke, um, often.”

Dave gives a sympathetic whistle.

“That’s a downer, dude. We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on anything but the itching under his skin.

“Just wish I had a distraction,” he mumbles, and suddenly a pair of warm, dry lips are pressed against his. His eyes fly open in shock, and he sees Dave stepping back, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“How’s that for a distraction?” he says, and Klaus gapes at him.

“Do that again? Please?” he stutters finally, his heart racing, and Dave laughs and moves in again, pressing a kiss to Klaus’ temple, lingering and sweet.

“When we get to base camp,” he promises, and with a wink he jogs away, pack bouncing on his broad back, perfect ass flexing with every stride.

The feeling in his stomach is nowhere close to nausea. Klaus presses a hand to his chest, and lets out a slightly crazed giggle.

“Well fuck me,” he says, and he snatches up his pack and starts off into the woods after Dave.

 

 Month Four

 

Private James Warren is dying. They all know it, and they all desperately avoid the medical tent where he lays, moaning, as the infection in his leg festers and spreads. He’s the youngest of their tightly knit squad, barely nineteen years old, and he carried a picture of his little sister with him in his pocket, even on the battlefield. Sequestered away at the edge of the tree line, chain-smoking and filthy, Klaus wonders who will be responsible for calling home to let the kid’s family know.

“Klaus?” someone asks from behind him, and when Klaus makes no move to turn, Dave settles down beside him in the dirt.

“You’re bleeding,” he says quietly, after inspecting Klaus’ face for a moment, and he pulls out a bandanna and his canteen and wets the cloth, wiping the grime and crusted blood away from the cut on Klaus’ forehead.

“Did you get this looked at?” he says, and Klaus shakes his head slightly.

“S’not that bad,” he mumbles, “just a cut. Nothing like what…” he pauses, then hisses and jerks back as his cigarette, worn down to the stub, burns the tips of his fingers.

Dave reaches out and takes his hand, pours a little more of the cool canteen water over the reddened skin.

“You’re shaking, baby,” he says at last, “is it Jamie?”

Klaus makes a jerky, aborted movement with his shoulders, and tries to muster up a cocky smile.

“No, it’s not that. I, uh, I just. I could really use some E right now, is all.”

“You think you’ll see him, after he goes?”

“I’m absolutely disgustingly sober these days, mi amour, so.” Klaus making a little waving gesture with his hand, “How come you believe me, anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Dave asks, setting one large hand comfortingly on the back of Klaus’ neck and rubbing circles with his thumb.

“I mean most people would hear the whole ‘I see dead people’ thing and just assume I’m full of shit. And by most people, I mean literally everyone I’ve ever met.”

Dave chuckles.

“I know when you’re bullshitting me, Klaus,” he tugs fondly at one of Klaus’ curls, “and this is the real deal. Besides,” he adds, the smile falling off his face, “in this war, a guy who talks to the dead ain’t exactly the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

A little chill runs down Klaus’ spine, a buzz like an electric current, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Klaus?” Dave says softly, “Baby?”

“He’s gone.” Klaus replies, expressionless. The hand on the back of his neck slides around his shoulders, and Dave pulls him tight against his side.

“He was just a kid,” he clenches his fists so tight his nails cut into his palm, “fucking nineteen years old, my brother…” and then he can’t say anymore, so he bites his lip and listens to the hum of the jungle, and Dave’s steady breathing beside him. When he opens his eyes again, his heart heavy with dread, James Warren is standing in front of them, his leg bloody and mangled, his young face twisted in fear.

“Private Hargreeves?” he stammers, and Klaus pushes Dave’s arm off and rises to his feet.

“Hey, Jamie,” he says, trying to infuse his voice with confidence. The younger man looks, for a moment, like he might burst into tears, and then he takes a deep breath and lifts his chin.

“I bought it, didn’t I?” he asks, and Klaus nods.

“You were a hero, Private,” he says, “saved Daniel’s scrawny ass, anyway.”

Jamie lifts an eyebrow, and for a moment he’s carefree again.

“We both know you have the scrawniest ass on the squadron, Klaus,” he says, his eyes dancing, and Klaus bursts out laughing, or maybe sobbing, he doesn’t know.

“My ass,” he gasps, “is a work of art you little shit,”

And now he is sobbing, and Jamie is too, he reaches out for Klaus like he can touch him if he tries hard enough. Dave is standing now, close but not speaking, a warm, steadying presence beside him.

“I need you…” Jamie chokes out, “Klaus, I need you to tell my baby sister, she’s only twelve, please tell her I would have come back- I love her so much, you have to tell her -”

“I will, I will Jamie,” Klaus promises, “you can let go, okay? You can go, I’ll take care of everything, I swear to Christ.”

Jamie smiles, a shaky, watery smile, but a real one.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and he turns and walks away, his shoulders straight and firm. As he walks, the mist seems to gather around him, reaching out with little tendril fingers, and in between one step and the next, he disappears completely. For a moment, Klaus stands perfectly still.

“You know what I would love, Dave?” he says, and even to his own ears, his voice sounds… wrong.

“What’s that?” Dave asks, gentle.

“I would love,” Klaus replies, his mouth stretching into a painful rictus grin, “to have some FUCKING drugs!”

He doubles over and buries his hands deep in his own curls, pulling until the pain from his scalp is all he can think about, until the itching in his fingertips for needles and pills passes.

“Klaus, baby,” Dave sighs, and he takes Klaus’ hands in his own, reels him in even as he struggles and tucks his face against his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “it’s not your fault. You gave him a gift, you set him free.”

“Ah, fuck,” Klaus mumbles, feeling tired down to his bones, “I’m so fucking messed up,"

Dave cards his fingers through Klaus’ hair, soothing where Klaus had hurt.

“That might be true,” he says, slowly, “but I think we all are, out here. You fit right in.”


	2. Chapter 2

Month Two

 

The first time they make love, Klaus cries, and can’t seem to stop crying, even after Dave has stopped and asked what’s wrong with tender concern. Klaus tries to explain, through sobs, that he’s never had sex with someone he loves before, that up until this point he’s never known he could feel like this.

Dave presses his lips to the hollow of Klaus’ throat and rocks into him sweet and so slow, a heavy, perfect weight on top of him and inside of him, turning Klaus into a babbling, speechless mess. When he comes it’s silent, a golden flood that blinds him, takes him by surprise, leaving him trembling beneath his lover, weak fingers scrabbling at Dave’s shoulders.

“I love you,” Dave breathes against his lips, and Klaus weeps and laughs and can’t think of a single thing to say in response. Later, after Dave has drifted off to sleep behind him, pressed up tight against his back, the answer comes to Klaus, and he sits upright in bed, wide awake and buzzing.

“Dave,” he whispers, and he leans down to press a kiss, light as a summer breeze, to Dave’s forehead, “Dave, I’m a fucking idiot. I love you back. I love you back.”

And as he says it, he knows it to be true, and that small, closed up part of him that has languished in the dark and the constant haze of drugs, unfurls and stretches out towards the light.

“I love you back,” he says again, in wonder.

 

 Month Eight

 

“What do you think you’ll do when the war is over?” Dave asks one night, as they bask in the afterglow, Klaus’ head pillowed on his chest.

“Well, Dave-o,” Klaus replies, nipping at Dave’s fingers as they trace the plush outline of his mouth, “I haven’t really thought that far ahead,”

“You don’t have any family back home? Anybody waiting for you?” Dave hesitates for the briefest moment, “A gal, maybe?”

Klaus can’t help the laugh that tumbles out of him. He feels Dave pull back a little, hurt, and he reaches up to frame his face with slender hands, trying to reassure him through his slightly manic giggling.

“Dave, hey, no, I’m not laughing at you, I just-” he flounders, searching for the right words. “Do I look like somebody who has a gal back home?” he settles for, and a grin breaks out across Dave’s face, plain relief in his beautiful eyes.

“I guess that answers my question,” he says, tugging at one of Klaus’ curls.

“I should be asking you the same thing, actually,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically quiet. It’s a doubt that plagues him, an insecurity born of neglect and abuse that he can’t ever seem to shake. Klaus is scrawny (even now, after all these months in the army) and addictive and damaged beyond repair, he loves eyeliner and skirts and mesh tops that show his hips and stomach, and some days he feels less like a man, and more like something… else. Dave is tall and strong, golden skinned and blue eyed, the kind of real all American boy Klaus’ father would have approved of.

“Hey,” Dave says, gently, reaching out to lift Klaus’ chin, “hey, look at me,”

Klaus does, green eyes locking with blue.

“I don’t have anybody waiting for me either,” he says, and Klaus’ heart sings.

“No mommy and daddy dearest?” He says, half-teasing, and Dave shakes his head, a sad little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Nah, they’ve been gone a long time now,” he says, “s’why I didn’t mind so much, joining up. What did I have to lose?”

Dave looks down at their joined hands for a moment, his handsome brow furrowed in thought, and then he sits up with sudden urgency.

“Klaus,” he says, as serious as Klaus has ever heard him, “when my granddad passed, he left me some land in Vermont. Couple dozen acres, and the old farmhouse my dad grew up in. I always thought, if I survived this hellhole, I’d go back there and learn how to grow things, you know, keep things alive.”

He sets his big hands on Klaus’ shoulders, thumbs stroking at his sharp collarbones, and his eyes are ablaze.

“But I don’t want to do it alone,” he says, and Klaus feels like his chest is about to burst open, like maybe his body can’t handle having this much joy inside of him.

“Are you saying-“ he begins, and Dave cuts him off.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever known,” he whispers, “and I can’t imagine any version of my life without you in it. If I asked you, love, would you come with me?”

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut tight against the threatening burn of tears.

“I’ve always kind of wanted to learn how to milk a cow,” he jokes, voice thick and wet, “can we have cows?”

Dave bursts out laughing, wrapping his arms around Klaus and tumbling them backwards onto their cot.

“Baby, if we make it out of here alive, I’ll buy you as many cows as you want,” he crows, pressing kisses to Klaus’ cheeks, his eyelids, his cupid’s bow.

 

 Month Ten

 

The gunfire around Klaus dulls to a distant roar, a tinny echo in his ears, as the medics pull Dave’s body away from the barricade towards the waiting stretcher. His gun slips from his nerveless hands, and he turns back to the front line with nothing inside of him at all. No light, no warmth, it’s all dead now, dead and gone. Gone, but maybe Klaus can follow. He promised himself, after all, didn’t he? Promised this was it, this life would be the life he lived, this world would be the one he chose. If it ends here, so be it. Klaus may be a little afraid of what comes after, but he has never been afraid of dying.

He starts towards the enemy fire with the empty resignation of a man to the gallows, but hands latch onto his arms and begin to pull him backwards.

“Retreat!” Sergeant Cooper bellows in his ear, “Move your ass, Hargreeves, we’re pulling back!”

Klaus struggles against the iron grip, against the tide of soldiers flooding around him, sweeping him away from his only chance at peace, and then something breaks inside of him, and he goes limp.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s back in his tent at base camp, lying on their cot, the one he shared with-

He moans, a horrible, wounded animal sound.

“You’re awake,” someone says from his right, and he turns his head weakly to see Private Sean Young sitting on the cot next to him, book in hand.

“I volunteered to keep an eye on you,” he says, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you were a little… out of it back there.”

Klaus opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He can’t speak, couldn’t even if he wanted to. Sean watches him struggle with something akin to pity in his eyes, and after a moment, he stands, and sets something down in Klaus’ lap; a thin metal chain with-

Klaus makes a pathetic noise, and snatches the dog tags up with shaking fingers.

‘Thank you,’ he mouths to Sean, who shrugs his broad shoulders.

“We all knew how he felt about you, Klaus,” he says, not meeting Klaus’ eyes, “he would have wanted you to have them.”

Klaus is crying now, silently, maybe he’s never stopped; the tears leak out against his will from that broken thing deep inside him.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Sean says, quiet, and exits the tent. Klaus gazes down hungrily at the dog tags clutched in his hands, hands that are still stained red with the blood of the man who had laid here on this cot not twenty-four hours ago and pressed kisses into his spine, pressed promises into his ear. There is a shining picture Klaus has built up in his head and cultivated carefully, held close to his heart like a fire on a winter’s night. He and Dave, after the war. A farm on Vermont, acres of trees and growing things, apples and snow peas and potatoes; a little house, maybe a dog or a cat, and no ghosts, ever, that Dave’s big hands on his waist couldn’t banish away.

He sees it now, behind his closed eyes, takes it all in one last time before it crumbles and falls apart, and then the hurt and the hollow swallow up his ability to breathe, and he remembers the briefcase tucked safely away under his cot. And suddenly, inexplicably, he wants his family; wants Diego’s awkward attempts to show he cares, and Allison’s gentle smile. He stands on aching legs and fumbles for the briefcase, stopping to place the dog tags around his neck. He spares one last glance around the tent, at their cot, everything blurring together as the tears continue to drip down his cheeks.

‘ _If I asked you, love, would you come with me?_ ’ he hears, like a whisper on the wind.

“I would have, Dave,” he whispers, choking on it, “I would have, I swear.”

He undoes the clasps.

 

 

 

Thousands of miles and more than forty years away, in an upscale Manhattan studio, a man curses under his breath, striking blue eyes focused intently on the sketchpad in front of him.

“Something the matter?” his assistant calls to him from across the room.

“It’s fine, Maggie,” he answers, setting his pencil down and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “just can’t seem to get this to turn out right.”

Maggie comes to look over his shoulder, her arms full of papers.

“Damn!” she whistles, “He’s pretty, isn’t he! Your newest muse?” she asks, with a wink. The man rolls his eyes, and reaches out a thumb to rub at the soft, penciled curve of a shoulder.

“Not even close, Mags,” he says, absorbed in the sketch, “He isn’t real. I had this crazy dream the other night, and I can’t explain it, but I’ve had this face stuck in my head ever since.”

“What kind of dream?” Maggie says, curious, setting her documents down on his desk.

“This is going to sound kind of crazy,” the man shrugs, picking up his cup of coffee, “but I think I was in the army?”

On the paper in front of him, a young man with large, kohl rimmed eyes and a head of wild curls tips his face back in laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Private Sean Young is partially named after Nathan Young, he's also an angel and a good boy.


	3. Chapter 3

* 

It’s Five who finds Klaus in the library after the rave, huddled in a ball on one of the leather armchairs and shaking and shaking and shaking.

“Klaus?” he asks, eyebrows creasing together in a frown, “What are you doing? Where’s Luther?”

Klaus blinks cloudy, unfocused eyes, and giggles.

“Upstairs,” he hums, “but I wouldn’t go looking for him if I were you, he’s… busy…” and he cackles again, slumping back across the arm of the chair.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Five demands, “Besides the obvious, I mean,”

“Well, little Number Five,” Klaus replies dreamily, dragging his hands across his face, “you see, withdrawal’s a bitch!”

Five watches him shake and sweat, and heaves a sigh.

“You’re getting sober.”

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock, excellent deductive skills!” Klaus claps frantically, and tries to rise from his chair. His legs give underneath him, and only Five jumping forward and catching his arm stops him from pitching over and cracking his head open against the end table.

“It hurts…” he gasps out, all fake humor disappeared from his face, “it hurts…”

Five coaxes him to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and helps him stumble over to the sofa where he can stretch out on his side, still trembling violently. Five stares down at him dispassionately for a moment, and then blinks out of existence and reappears seconds later, holding a steaming hot mug of something in his hands.

“Here,” he says, motioning for Klaus to sit up and placing the mug in his hands.

“What’s this?” Klaus asks, his teeth clicking against each other as he clutches the cup.

“Hot water with honey and lemon,” Five says, shrugging his narrow shoulders, “mom used to make it for us when-”

“-when we were sick!” Klaus finishes, “She always used the mug with the cartoon sunshine on it…”

He sips on the hot water, careful not to burn his tongue, his eyes focused on some unseen presence to his right.

“Yeah, that time I had whooping cough! When dad wouldn’t take me to the hospital,” he snorts, responding to some invisible voice, and Five gives him a strange look and turns to leave.

“That was after you disappeared,” Klaus says quietly, from behind him, and Five freezes.

“Just a week or two after, actually,” he continues, staring resolutely down at his drink, “and everyone was so worried about where you went and how to find you, nobody even noticed at first that I couldn’t get out of bed.”

Five moves slowly back to the sofa, and perches on the other end after a moment of hesitation.

“I was coughing so hard I couldn’t breathe,” Klaus continues, lost in a trance of memory, “sometimes so hard I would throw up. And for almost two days, nobody came.”

He blinks, and shakes his head a little, tossing Five a crooked smile.

“Anyway, looking back on it, I’m pretty sure that’s when I decided to leave home. Get out from under dear old daddy’s wing, you know? I was the first,” he says proudly, and then frowns, “well, no, I guess that was you, actually, wasn’t it? You’re a trendsetter, Five,” he giggles again, but it sounds tired, like he’s running out of energy to pretend he’s doing okay. Five looks at his brother, really looks at him for the first time since he arrived back in his own timeline, notices the deep bruises under Klaus’ eyes, the skinny limbs and protruding bones, the faint gleam of a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

“Those dog tags,” he says, nodding at them, “they have something to do with you getting sober?”

The smile slides off Klaus’ face, and his eyes shutter.

“Something like that,” he mutters, and his posture turns closed off.

Five sits up and shuffles closer to Klaus, his dark eyes intense and focused.

“Tell me.” He says, simply.

Klaus laughs again, but there’s nothing playful about the sound.

“Why do you want to know?” he says evenly, “why do you even fucking care, hm?”

“Because, dumbass- ” Five snaps, and then he sees Klaus’ face, and takes a deep breath through his nose, willing himself to calm down.

“Remember when we were ten?” he asks carefully, and Klaus gives him a bewildered look.

“Like, in general, or…?”

“Dad gave us that kidnapping mission,” Five continues, ignoring the interruption, “and we went in first. You were supposed to talk to the ghosts of the murdered little boys, which, _Jesus_ , dad, and I was supposed to use my spacial jumps to find where he was keeping the ones that were still alive,”

“And there was a dog,” Klaus says, slowly, “a big, mean looking motherfucker, like a German Shepard or something…”

“And it came right at me, growling and barking, but my jumps were pretty unpredictable back then, and I couldn’t get away, remember?”

“I remember.”

“And all of a sudden, you were there. You got right in front of me and started yelling at the dog to try and scare it off, but it latched onto your leg and started jerking you around like a doll,”

Klaus is quiet, but his hand moves slightly to press against his inner thigh, where Five knows he still has teeth shaped scars.

“You were so scared, Klaus,” he says, “I remember. You were shaking and crying, even after Luther got there and got the dog off you. You were scared shitless but you protected me anyway.”

He has Klaus’ attention now, big eyes riveted on him.

“I’m fucked up, and bad at showing it, but I care about my family,” he finishes, “I care, Klaus.”

All the tension bleeds from Klaus’ body, and he slumps sideways, pillowing his head on Five’s shoulder. He’s dead weight, and he smells like cigarette smoke and booze, but Five… allows it.

“It’s a long story,” Klaus mumbles, and Five rolls his eyes.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” he says, and Klaus huffs out a laugh.

“You know, I missed you when you were gone, you little shit,”

“Can’t say I feel the same.”

“You lieeeeeee,” Klaus croons, “you caaaaaaare-”

“Klaus,” Five warns, and Klaus wisely cuts himself off.

“Okay, okay,” he says, “so there I was in Vietnam, surrounded by a bunch of hulking, manly soldiers, and little ole’ me wearing nothing but a bath towel and an overcoat, which I know sounds like the start to a porno, and trust me, I would have been absolutely a-okay with that-”

“Klaus.”

“Sorry, sorry. The point is, I didn’t know where the hell I was, or how I got there in the first place. And then I saw Dave.”

 

 *

 

 “Diego! Diego, wait up!”

Diego turns, impatient, to see Klaus scurrying down the hallway, coat flapping ridiculously behind him. Diego holds up a hand before Klaus can continue.  
“Nope, not happening, get another ride dude.”

“Please, Diego, it’s important,” Klaus begs, eyes wild.

“I’m not supplying your drug habit when we have less than two days to stop the goddamn apocalypse, Klaus!”

“It’s not drugs!” Klaus exclaims, grabbing Diego’s face and squishing it between his hands, “It’s not drugs, Diego, I swear to you, I’m sober!”

He looks like he’s maybe about to cry, and Diego backtracks hastily.

“Hey, hey, I believe you, okay?” he says, gentler, “but I have to go after Hazel and Cha Cha, and I can’t afford to waste any time-”

“It won’t take long,” Klaus promises, “You can just drop me off, and I’ll find my own way home, okay? This is something I have to do, Diego, I swore. Please?”

Damn those big, hopeful green eyes. Diego groans.

“Be ready in five minutes, or I’m leaving you behind.”

 

 

When they pull up at the address Klaus had given him, Diego is baffled. It’s a cute little white cottage, two stories, in a neighborhood full of cute little houses. It looks nothing at all like the seedy drug den he had subconsciously pictured, despite Klaus’ claims of sobriety; Klaus, who is sitting in the passenger’s seat looking very nervous.

“Well,” he says, taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders back, “thanks for ride, Diego. Best of luck with the whole murderous assassin thing.” He pops the door open and scrambles out, and after a moment of heavy internal debate, Diego mimics him.

“I’m coming with you,” he says gruffly, when Klaus raises an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Protection, obviously.”

Klaus grins wickedly.

“Right, of course, protection from this peaceful suburban neighborhood. Who knows what’s lurking in the shadows of these immaculate lawns, the kind of evil-”

He continues to taunt as they approach the front door, but Diego catches unmistakable relief in Klaus’ eyes and knows his brother is glad he’s not alone. Klaus gives the door a firm knock, his fist clenched so tightly his knuckles are bloodless white. After a moment, the screen is pulled back, and the door swings open, revealing an older woman, maybe in her mid-sixties, with steel grey hair and glasses and a kind face.

“How can I help you boys?” she says, her voice surprisingly deep, and to her credit, her eyes only linger on Klaus’ outfit for the briefest of moments. Klaus steps forward slightly.

“Ms. Sally Warren?” he stammers, and the lady laughs.

“Haven’t been called that in years, darlin’, it’s Mrs. Sally Allen, these days,”

“Right,” Klaus says, awkwardly, “well, um, this is going to sound a little strange, ma’am, but I’m here on behalf… on behalf of your brother, Private James Warren.”

For a moment, Mrs. Allen’s face goes bloodless white, and she staggers back a step in the door. Diego starts forward, thinking he might have to catch her, but she regains her footing, and presses a trembling hand to her stomach.

“Well then,” she says, “you’d better come inside.”

She leads them into a warm, cozy living room, decorated with knitted pillows and little ceramic cat statues over the fireplace.

“My husband’s still at work,” she explains she gestures for them to sit on the sofa, “I’m a piano teacher, but you’ve caught me in between lessons today! Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“The kids all left home, huh?” Diego comments, and Sally laughs.

“Oh we never had any, Paul and I. Never wanted to! I’ve got all the children I need right here,” she adds as a sleek black cat stalks into the room, twining around her legs and gazing at them with cool yellow eyes.

“Hello beautiful beastie!” Klaus says, delighted, as the cat prowls across the room to sniff at Klaus’ leg, and after a moment of deliberation, leaps up into his lap and makes itself comfortable.

“Benjamin!” Sally scolds, half-laughing, “He’s not usually very fond of strangers,” she says with a wink in Klaus’ direction. For a moment, they all sit in pleasant silence, broken only by Benjamin purring, and then she leans forward, twisting her fingers together in her lap.

“You said,” she begins, haltingly, “you said you were here on behalf of my brother?”

Klaus nods, stroking a hand down Benjamin’s back to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just don’t understand how that could be? He died, you see, when I was-”

“When you were twelve years old,” Klaus finishes, and her mouth drops open.

“How could you possibly know that?” she gasps, glancing from Klaus to Diego, “Who are you?”

“Ma’am, please,” Diego holds out a calming hand, “I promise you, my brother is here to help.”

“My father served in Vietnam,” Klaus blurts out, and both Diego and Sally turn to him with wide eyes, “in your brother’s squadron, ma’am. They were… they were very close.”

Sally’s hand flies to her mouth.

“My father passed away just a few days ago, and it was his dying wish that I find you, Sally Warren.”

“Oh,” she says, tremulously.

“He wanted me to give you a message, ma’am,” Klaus’ eyes are suspiciously bright, and Diego watches, speechless, as Klaus reaches into the pocket of his green vest and pulls out a photograph, folded and creased.

“A message he should have given you a long time ago,” he continues, “from your brother. From Jamie.”

Sally is openly weeping, tears streaming down her face and Klaus rises from the sofa, depositing Benjamin carefully on the floor, and kneeling down in front of her rocking chair. He unfolds the picture and presses it into her hands.

“Jamie wanted you to know that he loved you,” he says, voice shaking, “he loved you more than anything, and every day he was away from home, he thought of you.”

Sally looks down at the picture; herself, gap-toothed and freckled, grinning at the camera from the backyard of her family home fifty-one years ago.

“Jamie,” she whispers, “oh, Jamie,”

“He carried your picture in his pocket every day, even on the battlefield. He would have come back to you,” Klaus says, ignoring his own tears, “to you and your parents. Nothing could have stopped him but death.”

She holds the picture to her chest and hunches over it, her shoulders heaving with the force of her sobs.

“Klaus,” Diego says, finally finding his voice, “we should go,”

Klaus stands, backing slowly away from Sally, and then turning abruptly and rushing out the door before Diego has time to say anything else. With one last glance back at Sally, he chases after his brother, leaving behind an old woman, weeping softly in a rocking chair, clutching desperately to the last piece of hers.

 

 

 “Why are we here, Diego,” Klaus says sullenly, twenty minutes later, “I thought you had time travelling assassins to murder.”

“I do,” Diego says, sitting down at their table in the corner and sliding a cup of coffee and a cheese Danish to his brother, “but that can wait until you don’t look like a kicked puppy anymore.”

“I look like a sexy kicked puppy,” Klaus retorts, and then snorts when Diego makes a face at him.

“You know what I mean,” he says, tearing open a packet of sugar and dumping it into his coffee.

“So why’d you lie to her?” Diego asks, taking a sip of his own (black, the way God intended), “you told her _dad_ served with her brother in Vietnam,”

“Well, what was I supposed to say, Diego?” Klaus retorts, dumping in another packet of sugar, “Hey Sally, it’s me! Your dead brother’s best friend, who fought with him in Vietnam and was there when he died, but still looks like a young adult, because of, well, quite frankly, time travel! What a world, huh?”

He dumps another packet in angrily.

“That’d go over well, don’t you think?” he reaches for another packet, but Diego swipes the bowl away with a pained expression.

“Klaus,” he says, then again, firmly when Klaus won’t meet his eyes, “Klaus. Look at me.”

After a long moment, Klaus does, his eyes still rimmed red.

“It’s gonna be okay, little dude,” Diego reaches over the table and ruffles Klaus’ hair, chuckling when his hand gets slapped away.

“Actually, I’m ten months older than you now,” Klaus points out, but Diego grins and shakes his head.

“Nope, doesn’t matter. You’re always going to be my little bro, not even time travel can change that,”

“That’s a real shocker there,” Klaus says, but he’s fighting a smile, and Diego is too. Then Klaus’ eyes drift past Diego, to the street outside the coffee shop window, and his breath catches in his throat with a harsh, choking sound.

“Klaus?” Diego asks but Klaus is staring intently at something outside the window.

“It can’t be…” he whispers, lips barely moving, and then he goes from utterly still to an explosion of movement, leaping up from the chair without his coat and flying out the door, leaving Diego stunned behind him. He grabs Klaus’ coat, throws a ten on the table, and jogs outside, where Klaus is standing frozen, staring up at a large bulletin board, proudly proclaiming “LAS NOCHES ART GALLERY GRAND OPENING” in bold font. In smaller letters below, it says, “Jason Gallagher displays new collection” and there’s a picture of a handsome man in his early forties. It’s this man that Klaus is staring at, hungrily, like a starving child in sight of food.

“Klaus, man, what the hell?” Diego says, annoyed, but Klaus ignores him completely.

“What, you wanna go to an art show before the end of the world?” Diego says, elbowing Klaus in the side, “Didn’t think art was your thing,”

“It’s tomorrow…” Klaus whispers.

“Klaus,” Diego says, insistently this time, “who cares if some gallery opening is tomorrow, tomorrow’s the day-”

“-the world ends.” Klaus finishes, and his voice is a graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that in the sky? Is it a bird? Is it a plane?? It's... o m i n o u s f o r e s h a d o w i n g!!!


	4. Chapter 4

*

Standing in the empty gallery in front of his shrouded masterpiece, Jason Gallagher wonders if he’s made the right choice, hiding this piece in the back instead of placing it front and center. It’s the painting he’s proudest of, the one he feels most connected to; the same lingering vision that has danced in the back of his head, dreaming and waking, for the past twenty years. And yet, somehow, putting it out in public for everyone to see… it feels like an intrusion. He wants to stow it away in a corner, hide it from anyone’s eyes but his. He’s not sure what prompted him to display it, but he’s willing to put all the blame squarely on Maggie’s head.

“This place is going to be crawling with people tonight,” someone says from behind him, and Jason turns to grin at Luke Cohen, holding a glass of champagne he undoubtedly swiped from one of the hor d'oeuvre tables.

“Thanks for agreeing to help organize, man,” he says by way of reply, and his best friend rolls his eyes.

“Please,” he says with disdain, “you need me. You’re like a deer in headlights when it comes to hosting shit like this,”

“Maybe because I wasn’t a trust fund baby, like some people I know?” Jason says drily, and Luke snorts.

“You’re just jealous of all the ponies I owned as a child,” he says.

“That’s exactly it,” Jason agrees, flatly, “I’m jealous of the bizarre and unusual amounts of horses you owned.”

The elbow one another for a moment, giggling like little kids, and then Luke straightens up and claps Jason on the shoulder.

“So, Mr. Big Famous Artist,” he says, “are you going to let your bestest friend get a glimpse of your piece de resistance? I know this is it, you’ve got that look in your eyes.” He gestures up at the canvas, almost five feet tall, draped in white like a covered mirror in an abandoned house.

Jason takes a deep breath, and reaches up to pull off the sheet, letting it flutter to the ground.

“Jace…” Luke says in wonder, after a long moment of silence, “holy shit…”

“This one’s been years in the making,” Jason says, smiling a private smile and reaching out to ghost his hand over the canvass, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?!” his friend says in disbelief, “Fuck, man, this is your best work! In my professional opinion,” he adds, with a grin.

“Your professional opinion as a brain surgeon?” Jason teases, stealing the champagne from his friend’s hand and taking a sip.

“Brain surgery is an art form in its own right,” Luke says loftily, “besides, I know beauty when I see it. And this,” he adds, gesturing to the painting in front of them, “this is it.”

“High praise,” Jason says, but privately, he agrees.

“I mean, how the hell did you even come up with this?” Luke exclaims, and Jason gives him a wry grin.

“Product of a very vivid imagination,” he says, handing his friend’s champagne back, “now go get me one of these,”

Luke rolls his eyes, but goes, mumbling something most likely unkind as he does. Jason watches his friend walk away, amused, and turns his eyes back to his painting.

“Tonight’s going to be big,” he murmurs, “for both of us.”

 

*

 

Surrounded by the smoking remains of her childhood home, Allison blinks soot from her burning eyes, and fights back the sudden urge to cry. The pain in her throat is relentless, but the pain of seeing the academy gone, Pogo dead, Vanya… Vanya lost, that is the pain more keenly felt. If only she’d been stronger, if only she’d stood up to Luther, if only she had her _voice_ …

“What now?” Diego asks, sounding very young. Mom is gone, and Allison’s heart aches for him.

“Guys!” Someone shouts from behind them, and Allison turns with the others to see Five racing towards them, clutching a newspaper in one hand.

“This is it,” he pants, stumbling to a halt, “the apocalypse is still on, the world ends today!”

After a moment of stunned silence, everyone explodes. Luther and Diego bicker with Five, their voices rising sharp and angry, and Allison looks over to Klaus, who is- walking away? She grabs Diego’s sleeve, tugging hard and jerking her head at Klaus’ retreating figure when he stops arguing with the others to look at her.

“K- hey Klaus!” Diego shouts, and Klaus stops, back still turned, “Where are you going? The apocalypse is still happening, we have to figure out how to stop it!”

“We need to stick together!” Luther chimes in.

Klaus turns around, a slightly off kilter smile on his face.

“Sorry, gents and lady,” he says, miming tipping an invisible hat to them, “but the world is ending today, and I have somewhere to be.”

“The HELL you do-“ Luther begins, furious, and then they hear the choppers.

“Shit,” Diego curses, as searchlights beam down on them.

“We gotta go, now!” Luther shouts over the rapidly approaching police sirens, “Regroup at the superstar!”

Allison stumbles after her brothers, stopping once they reach the safety of an alleyway to whip out her notepad and scrawl something down on it, shoving the paper in Luther’s face.

“Where’s Klaus?” he reads, then, “SHIT!”

 

*

 

“You sure you want to do this?” Ben asks quietly, as they stand in front of the art gallery, watching crowds of people pour into the building.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Klaus says back, never taking his eyes off the doors.

“Because the world is ending?” Ben suggests, “And our family wants you there with them?”

“Our family has never wanted me anywhere with them,” Klaus retorts, angrily, “I could march back there right now and tell them all about how I manifested you and saved Diego’s life, and they’d laugh it off and tell me to ‘stop needing to be the center of attention, Klaus’ and all the same BULLSHIT they’ve been throwing at me since I was a kid.”

Ben is silent for a moment.

“This is what you choose?” he says, and Klaus chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

“I choose him,” he replies, simply, “I’m always going to choose him. You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to,” he adds, turning to Ben and giving him a small, crooked smile, “just… wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” Ben says sadly, and Klaus starts off determinedly towards the doors, leaving the last member of his family behind.

 

 

Klaus doesn’t really have a plan. He’s not much of a planner, historically, his style has always been throwing caution to the wind and hoping things work out. So here he is, hunting down a man who may or may not be his dead lover, and painfully, regrettably sober.

He swipes a few macarons from a fancy table, and keeps to the outskirts of the building, avoiding the throngs of people. He winds up near the back of the gallery, where it’s much less packed. Scanning the crowd for any sign of the man he’d seen on the billboard, the man he’d loved and lost, he overhears a couple talking behind him.

“ –never seen anything like it,” a man is saying, and a woman agrees with him.

“It’s nothing like his previous work,” she says, “but you know, I think it’s incredible.”

“I wonder why he put it back here?” the man says, and then their voices become indistinguishable as they move on to another exhibit.

Klaus turns from the bronze statue he’d been pretending to inspect, and looks in the direction they’d come from at a lone canvas, hanging in the corner on the back wall, and depicting-

His eyes go wide, and his brain stutters, catching and catching again like a broken record, unable to process what he’s seeing. His legs carry him forward on autopilot, and he stops in front of the painting, staring up at it in wordless awe. Staring at his own face. Because it is undoubtedly himself, peering back at him from the canvas. An army of ghostly figures clamor at the Klaus in the painting, reaching for him with wispy smoke fingers where he kneels, crucified, his body wrapped in a white shroud, green eyes blazing underneath wild dark curls. His hands, supplicant at his sides, clearly display two tattoos, ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.

“You like this piece?” a deep voice asks from behind him, but Klaus barely hears it, too transfixed.

“It’s… it’s incredible,” he whispers, finding his voice. “I don’t- who painted this? How did they… I mean, how did they do this? That’s…” _That’s me,_ he doesn’t say.

“Well,” the voice says cheerfully, “you could try asking him yourself,”

Klaus freezes, all his attention snapping into painful focus, and then he turns, slowly, his pulse thundering in his ears. A tall, handsome older man is standing behind him, the polite smile on his face sliding off when he sees Klaus. Klaus, who finds himself looking at Dave, _his_ Dave; an older version, more refined in his expensive suit and tie, but still Dave. Klaus wraps his arms around his middle, certain that if he doesn’t hold himself together he’ll fall apart, and the man takes a step forward, clearly awestruck, his eyes flickering back and forth between the painting and Klaus.

“You’re… how?” he says, and this time Klaus is the one who steps forward. His chest aches, aches in that hollow place that Dave had taken with him, when he died. It hurts, so much that Klaus can hardly force his legs into motion. It feels like rebirth.

“Don’t you remember?” Klaus says softly, stopping just a few inches from Dave, so close he can take in his eyelashes, his strong jaw, all the little things he thought he’d never see again. “Don’t you know me?”

“I…” the man stammers, “I think- I think I do. I have to. I’ve seen you before, so many times, in my dreams, when I closed my eyes- I _painted_ you!” He gestures wildly to the canvas behind them. His eyes rake over Klaus greedily.

“I didn’t think you were real,” he finishes, quiet.

Klaus reaches up and pulls the dog tags from his neck.

“I kept them safe for you,” he whispers, holding them out, “but I think you should have them back.”

Dave takes the chain, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Klaus to read the name inscription. He goes very still, then, and when he looks back up there is something awakening in his eyes, like a diver rising to the surface of a lake.

“I remember,” he murmurs, and he reaches out a big, gentle hand to skim his fingers down the curve of Klaus’ cheek, “Klaus…”

Klaus, now openly sobbing, clutches at the hand and nuzzles his face into it, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Dave,” he gasps, “Dave-”

“KLAUS!” someone shouts from behind him, and at that moment a faint tremor runs through the floor. Klaus turns to see Ben, racing towards him through the crowd.

“Klaus,” he says once he reaches them, “you have to come now, it’s Vanya!”

The ground trembles again, and someone near the front of the gallery yells, “It’s the symphony hall!”

People begin to pour outside, trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos.

“Klaus?” Dave asks, confused, “Klaus, what’s happening?”

“The apocalypse is happening!” Ben says, desperate, “The others are trying to stop Vanya alone, if we don’t do something, they’ll die! And so will everyone else,” he adds, looking meaningfully at Dave. Klaus shakes his head frantically, still clutching Dave’s hand, green eyes locked with sky blue.

“I’m not leaving him again!” he says wildly, and Ben is in front of him, suddenly, manifesting between them.

“KLAUS!” He snarls, “Your family NEEDS you!”

Klaus stares at his brother helplessly, his face open with grief, and Ben softens.

“I know, I know Klaus. I’m so sorry.”

Klaus turns back to Dave, who is looking between Klaus and the empty space where Ben is standing with a mixture of confusion and epiphany on his face, like he’s grasping at a memory.

“I have to go,” Klaus chokes out, biting at his lip so hard he tastes blood, “I’m sorry, I have to go,”

“Now?” Dave asks, his eyebrows wrinkling together just the way they used to whenever he was worried, oh god, oh Jesus _Christ_ Klaus can’t do this-

Another, stronger tremor shakes the ground beneath his feet, raising shouts of alarm from the people around them, and Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and turns to leave. A hand catches his wrist and whirls him back around, and suddenly there are strong arms on his waist, and warm, chapped lips pressed against his, and Klaus’ heart sings and stumbles and awakens, fully, for the first time since they’d taken Dave’s body away from him.

“Don’t go,” Dave says, pleading, pulling back just enough to search Klaus’ eyes, “I remember- there are so many memories in my head, and you’re the only thing I’m sure of, you can’t go-”

“Klaus!” Ben says insistently, and Klaus blinks through his tears, memorizing every detail of Dave’s face.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, pressing one last reverent kiss to Dave’s hand, “I’ll fix everything, and I’ll come back.”

And he pulls away, wiping furiously at his tears and following Ben outside, leaving the love of his life standing lost in the middle of a panicking crowd, clutching a pair of dog tags like a life line.

 

*

 

If there is a mantra Klaus has lived his life by, always, it’s that good things don’t happen. Or, maybe they do, to other, ordinary people, going about their lives. Commuting to work in the morning, drinking coffee and getting married and being content. Maybe good things happen to those people. But not to Klaus. When he first begins to realize the horror of the power he’s been cursed with, he understands. Good things don’t happen. His brothers and sisters can throw knives, bend reality, jump through space; he even envies Vanya, powerless and forgotten, but unafraid. Klaus? Klaus is always afraid.

So he develops his mantra, clings to it, writes bitterness into his heart like a scar, drugs himself into madness and hopes for nothing at all. Dad locks him in mausoleums, his siblings all turn their backs on him, call him a junkie and a fuck-up, and that makes sense, that’s okay. He wakes up in strange houses, aching and bruised with his skirt around his knees and no memory of how he got there, and that’s fine too. Good things don’t happen, and Klaus doesn’t expect them to. Not anymore.

And then he meets Dave.

 

 

“Good things don’t happen,” Klaus whispers, staring up at the huge chunk of rock hurtling through space towards them. He’d been so sure, for a moment. For just one, brief moment, it seemed like everything would be okay. He should know better.

“If only Sir Reginald could see us now, huh?” Diego says, and something in Klaus snaps. He’s lived through the end of the world once, held it in his arms as it bled and faded, and if he has to live through it again, he knows where he needs to be. Luther is saying something about them all being together as a family, at the end, but Klaus is no longer listening. He leaps off the stage in a sudden burst of movement, racing down the middle aisle toward the doors as fast as his weakened legs can go, and ignoring the shouts behind him. He makes it almost to the exit, so close, but there’s a blue flash and a pop and suddenly Five is in front of him, blocking his way.

“Where the fuck are you going, Klaus?” he demands. Klaus doesn’t answer, trying to dart around him, but Five shoves him back with surprising strength.

“I have a way to get us out of this, didn’t you hear me?”

“I don’t care!” Klaus snarls, “Every single person on this planet is going to die, including him, and I’m not letting him go alone! Move.” He finishes, deadly serious. Five takes another step forward, still blocking the way, and his little face is scowling, but there’s something almost pleading in his eyes.

“Klaus, we can still fix this,” he says, “I’ll time travel, but this time I’ll take you all with me. We can save the world, but it won’t work if we’re not all together, okay? You have to trust me!”

“I don’t give a shit about the world!” Klaus shouts, his hands trembling so badly he thinks they might shake off his wrists, “I promised him! I _promised!_ ”

Five shakes his head, and his face twists with… regret?

“Then you leave me no choice,” he says quietly, and nods his head to something behind Klaus’ back. He starts to turn, but suddenly massive arms are wrapped around him, crushing him so tightly black spots swim in front of his eyes. Klaus panics, kicking and thrashing and screaming so loudly his throat burns.

“NO!” he screeches, “you can’t DO this, PLEASE-”

But his body is too weak, and his voice cracks and goes silent as Luther squeezes all the breath from his lungs and begins to carry him effortlessly back towards the stage.

“I’m sorry Klaus,” Five says, and the horrible part is that he actually looks it, “you’re my brother, and I’m not letting you die here.”

Klaus just whips his head from side to side, blinded by his tears and gasping for air. He goes limp, hovering on the edge of consciousness, and Luther passes him to Diego, who props Klaus up against his chest with one arm, and reaches out to hold Five’s hand with the other. An electric blue light begins to pulsate around them, an alien wind grasping at their hair and clothes.

“Hold on!” Five yells over the deafening roar, “This could get messy!”

The last thought Klaus has, before everything goes dark, is of Dave. Always Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, in this universe Klaus did not summon Dave in the day that never was; he tried to, but since Dave chose to reincarnate, Klaus wasn't able to contact his spirit. Which is horribly depressing and I'm so sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

 

Diego feels it the moment he wakes, bleary and unfocused, cringing as the bright morning sun spilling through the window hits his eyes. And he knows what’s been done, even before he looks down and sees the uniform, the socks and the blazer and the too-small body. He looks around in horror at his siblings, sprawled out on the floor of the study, all far tinier than they should be.

They’re out cold, mostly, a few twitching weakly like they’re about to come to, but Five is already awake; sitting hunched on the sofa with his knees drawn up to his chest, and looking, for once, like the child he isn’t.

“What did you do?” Diego asks, barely above a whisper, and Five shakes his head.

“I don’t know.” He replies, bleak, and Diego feels his stomach churn. Jesus. He escaped his childhood by remaking himself into something hard, trading skin for steel, shaking off blows and barbed words like water. If he has to grow up in this house a second time, he’ll do just fine, but some of his siblings barely survived the first go around. Some didn’t survive at all, he thinks, as his eyes land on a familiar figure, struggling to sit up.

“Holy shit,” he says, “Ben?”

Ben blinks back at him, curled up on the floor in his flesh and blood very much alive body, and then, slowly, a smile breaks out across his young face. Diego feels himself smile too, because at least there’s one good thing to come from this shitty situation.

“Welcome back,” he says softly, and Ben salutes, him, still grinning, and holds his hands out in front of him in wonder. Beside him, Luther groans, sitting up and looking around in confusion, his mouth dropping open in wonder when he sees Ben.

“Holy shit,” he says, “Ben?” and Diego huffs out a laugh. Luther looks down at his fully human, adolescent self, and then gets to feet, shaky like a baby deer.

“Careful,” Five warns, “the side effects haven’t worn off-” Luther sways and topples over, “-yet.”

Diego glances around, cataloguing his siblings one by one; Five on the sofa, still looking… wrong, somehow, Luther splayed out on the floor like an idiot, Allison sitting up warily, touching a hesitant hand to the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat. Vanya’s awake too, staring at Allison with naked relief plain on her face.

“Allison,” she chokes out, “I…”

“Don’t,” Allison says, tender, “Don’t apologize, Vanya, you have nothing to apologize for,”

This seems to send Vanya over the edge, and she folds in on herself, her face twisting in grief.

“Yes I do!” she wails, “God, Allison, yes I do!”

Allison throws her arms recklessly around her, holding her tight and letting Vanya bury her tears in her shoulder.

“Things will be different this time,” she says firmly, “we’re not letting it happen again. Dad’s not going near you with his drugs, or his abuse. We’re going to help you figure things out,” she shoots a vicious glare at her brothers, “right boys?”

Luther bobs his head, nervous, and Diego gives Allison a small, reassuring smile. Vanya looks up, her face wet and splotchy, and there is hope shining in her eyes. For maybe the first time, Diego thinks with certainty that they can do this. And then Luther speaks.

“Uh, guys?” he says, and he points at a crumpled figure, sprawled on the floor and partially hidden behind the sofa. Diego feels the pit of his stomach drop out, and he scrambles to his feet.

“Klaus!” he yells, berating himself inwardly for not thinking to check on his brother earlier. Ben is right there with him, Five close behind, as Diego rolls Klaus’ unconscious body over.

“Five, what’s wrong with him?” Ben asks, frantic, feeling for a pulse on his brother’s neck.

“I… I…” Five stutters, looking uncharacteristically lost, “nothing! I mean, He should have woken up by now, the only reason-”

He cuts himself off, his face darkening. Ben pulls Klaus’ head into his lap and looks up at the rest of them, hovering with worried eyes.

“Five?” Diego asks, and the Boy bares his teeth.

“He’s not waking up, because he doesn’t want to,” he snarls, turning sharply on his heel and disappearing.

For a long moment, the rest stand in silence.

“What do we do now?” Vanya says, her voice very small.

“Let’s just… get him to his room,” Diego mutters, hauling Klaus’ limp body onto his back.

“Can we have a family meeting later?” Allison asks, and Diego gives her a small nod as he passes.

“Good idea. For now, just… try to avoid dad?”

Allison gives him a halfhearted thumbs up, and turns back to Vanya. Diego makes the trek up the stairs and through the twisting hallways of his childhood home, Ben trailing anxiously behind him.

“It’s just like it was when we were kids,” Ben says as they push open the door to Klaus’ room.

“I don’t know if you’ve looked at yourself recently, Ben,” Diego grunts, lowering Klaus gently onto his bed, “but we are kids.”

Ben sits at the foot of the bed and gazes down at Klaus.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he says, after a moment, “I know it’s what we had to do, to save the world, but being like this?” he gestures loosely to the three of them, “It’s just… wrong.”

“I know.” Diego replies, grimly, and both of them sit, silently, staring down at their pale, unmoving brother.

 

*

 

He floats in an ocean of shadow. When he was young, before the experiments and the bloody apparitions, his favorite color was white. If you took white, and refracted it, you would see all the colors of the rainbow. But as the years pass by, and the screaming in his skull gets louder and louder, the more he gravitates towards black. Black, after all, is the absence of color. Black is funerals, and goodbyes, and endings. Black is the womb he floated in, once, briefly, before he knew anything or was anyone. Black is the grave they’ll lower him into when he finally kicks the bucket.

Maybe he already has. Maybe this, this perfect blackness, is his ending. That wouldn’t be so bad.

And then, as he drifts, there is brightness, and with it, memory.

 

 

“Klaus, baby, take it easy, okay?” Dave is saying, gentle like he always is. Klaus is fluttering anxiously around him in the medical tent like an oversized bird, tugging at his curls in mindless unease.

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, dragging his hands across his face, “I just, there was so much blood…”

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” Dave says, shrugging, “and besides, it was just a graze,”

He reaches out as Klaus paces by and snags him around his slender waist, pulling him down to curl up in Dave’s lap in the cot.

“I’m fine, beautiful,” he murmurs against Klaus’ forehead.

Klaus exhales shakily and finally allows himself to relax, melting into Dave’s arms.

“Yeah, yeah, no, I know, I just. I get... scared.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and snag a boss scar,” Dave says, and his eyes are dancing, “would you be even more attracted to me if I had one of those?”

Klaus rolls his eyes and grins, the faint lines of worry around his eyes smoothing out.

“Your manliness would increase by a shocking percent,” he says dramatically, pretending to swoon, “my innocent, maidenly virtue would be no match for your and your scar, I’d orgasm on the spot!”

Dave cuts his laughter off with a kiss, deep and filthy and possessive. When he pulls back, licking his lips, Klaus blinks big green eyes, dazed.

“I don’t need a scar to make you orgasm, baby,” Dave says, his voice deeper than usual, and Klaus privately agrees.

“M-maybe not,” he says, swallowing, “but you do need to lie down and rest, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

Dave scoffs, but allows Klaus to push him back into a reclining position and curl up alongside him, pillowing his head on Dave’s chest and throwing a skinny thigh over his lover’s. For a long moment, they lay quietly, tangled together; long enough that the darkness Dave had driven away starts to creep back into the corners of Klaus’ mind.

“What do you think happens?” he says, unable to help himself, and Dave turns his head slightly, confused.

“What?” he asks, and Klaus licks his lips and tries again.

“I said… what do you think happens? You know, when you- when you kick it? My experience is pretty limited to ‘turn into ghost’, but that’s not universal,”

Dave’s quiet for a moment, his deep blue eyes searching.

“I… couldn’t pretend to know, Klaus, honestly,” he begins, “Jews are pretty loose with the whole afterlife thing and I’m not even practicing. But you know, there was this old Indian cat who lived in the apartment above us in Jersey, Mr. Suresh-”

Klaus nods a little, pressing himself closer to Dave and relishing in the warmth of him. His eyes start to shut, but as the blackness carries him away, he strains to hear what Dave is saying. He knows, he _knows_ it was important. He needs to remember.

“-about reincarnation. I liked the sound of that, y’know? Being reborn. That’s how I’d choose to go.”

 

 

He drifts in the black. He hears snatches of laughter, shouting, voices carried to him distorted, like sound underwater. He hears Diego, he thinks, or maybe Ben. He floats. There is nothing. He is nothing.

And then, out of nothing, the sharp knife of memory.

 

 

“Where are you doing, Klaus?” A cold, clipped voice says from his bedroom door, and he loses his balance and tumbles off his windowsill into his bed. He cranes his neck and sees Five scowling down at him. Klaus giggles.

“Sneaking through my window?” he suggests, giggling again, “You know, you look just as cranky upside down.”

“You’re high as a kite.” Five says, stone-faced, reaching out and fisting the front of Klaus’ shirt, hauling him upright.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, taking in Klaus’ miniskirt and fringed crop top.

“It’s called fashion, baby,” Klaus replies, wiggling his eyebrows at Five, who just scoffs.

“Where did you even get that?” he says, “I know dad confiscated your stash,”

Klaus beams a furious, bitter smile.

“I traded my uniform for some girl’s outfit at a club,” he says, dragging each word out like honey, savoring the sweet taste of rebellion. He rolls to his hands and knees and crawls closer to the edge of the bed, batting his eyes at his brother.

“Borrowed her makeup, too,” he sing songs, still riding the cresting wave of his high, “and then you know what I did, Five?”

“I don’t want to k-” Five interjects, but Klaus keeps right on talking over him.

“I found some college guy,” he purrs, “and I let him fuck me in the bathroom.”

Five blinks at him, caught off guard, and then his focus seems to sharpen, his eyes zeroing in on Klaus like he can see right through him, see everything. Klaus feels suddenly, painfully sober.

“So, you know,” he mutters, flopping over and hugging his pillow, “you can run off and tattle to dad now. Let him know what sort of sick shit Number Four’s getting into behind his back.”

Five frowns, hesitating for a moment before moving over and sitting on the bed.

“I’m not gonna fucking tell on you, idiot,” he sighs, snaking a hand out to wrap around Klaus’ bony ankle, “I’m not Luther.”

Klaus snorts, despite himself.

“You know, huh?” he says, and Five shrugs his thin shoulders.

“That Luther’s the one who ratted you out to dad? Yeah.”

“Fucking asshole,” Klaus laughs, and there’s nothing nice about the sound.

“You’re not wrong,” Five replies, wryly, “can't say I'm exactly thrilled with dad either, at the moment.”

“The time travel thing?” Klaus asks, and Five gives him a jerky nod.

Klaus hums, his buzz fading steadily.

“We all know you’ll get it, Five,” he says, and then he sits up, suddenly, his green eyes blazing in his too thin face. He squishes Five’s face between his hands, practically vibrating.

“When you do figure it out, we should go somewhere!” he exclaims, “Boys weekend to Woodstock, or something!”

Five rolls his eyes, trying to pry Klaus’ hands off his face.

“I’m not going to use my potentially world breaking time travel powers for vacation, Klaus,” he says, and Klaus falls back onto the bed, hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

“Yeah, yeah, no, makes sense,” he mumbles, “just thought it’d be nice, you know. We never hang out anymore.”

Some nameless emotion that Klaus can’t place twists briefly across Five’s face, and he heaves a sigh.

“Fine. When I figure out how to time travel, I’ll take you on a trip.”

Klaus smiles, hazy and delighted.

“Anywhere I want to go?”

“Within reason.”

The smile slides off of Klaus’ face, and he looks up at Five, vulnerable in a way that Klaus doesn't usually allow himself to be.

“You promise?”

Five hesitates for just a brief moment, and then answers, decisive.

“I promise.”

 

 

Darkness comes again, soft and welcoming. He drifts, and dreams of things that have happened, and things that never will. What a relief, for it all to be over. What a gift, not to remember. Not to hurt. For the first time in his comparatively short life, he's at peace.

And then he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, I, uh. yeah? life is rough and i'm fucking depressed so sorry for the long wait for a new chapter, but i've got the whole thing written now, essentially, so i'm not abandoning this story, especially since you people actually seem to... enjoy it?? sounds fake but okay.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

 

They decide to meet in Klaus’ room. Allison’s is technically the biggest, but when Luther suggests it, she levels him with a glare.

“What about Klaus?”

Luther wrinkles his forehead in trademark confusion.

“He- he hasn’t woken up yet, has he?” he says, and Diego, perched on the kitchen table, shakes his head grimly.

“No. Ben’s with him, he hasn’t moved.”

“So-” Luther begins, but Vanya cuts him off.

“We’re doing this in Klaus’ room,” she says, meeting everyone’s shocked stares with the calm raise of an eyebrow, “we’re not leaving people out anymore. Not this time.”

Beside her, Allison beams.

“What about Five?” Diego asks, “He still hasn’t turned up…”

“I’ll leave a note on his bedroom door.” Vanya says, “That’ll have to work, for now.”

“We still haven’t seen dad,” Luther points out, “he’s going to want to know where Klaus is…”

Diego shakes his head, twirling one of his knives with a soft, private smile on his face.

“Nah, we don’t have to worry. I saw-” he falters for a moment, swallowing roughly, “I saw m-mom, earlier. She said dad’s on one of his business trips. Won’t be back for a few days.”

Allison reaches out and sets a hand carefully on his shoulder. All of them, even Luther, know what it means to Diego to see Grace again, alive and well.

“That’s settled then,” Luther says, outvoted and resigned, “we meet in Klaus’ room.”

 

 

Late that night, each one of them creeps silently out of their rooms to congregate in Klaus’, cramming themselves awkwardly into the tiny space. Ben, who has barely left his brother’s side for the past twenty-four hours, looks up as Diego enters, his face pale and drawn.

“Brought you something, octo-boy,” Diego says, tossing a wrapped sandwich at his brother’s head. Ben catches it reflexively, giving Diego a grateful look.

“Thanks dude,” he says, sheepishly, “I, uh, I guess I forgot I needed to eat.”

There’s a sharp buzzing, the room suddenly awash with blue light, and Five is there, perched nonchalantly on the window seat like he’d never left.

“Got your note,” he says to Vanya, “can we make this quick? I need coffee.”

“I’ll start,” Diego says, “we’re fucked. Who’d like to go next?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luther says, “I think that pretty much sums up my feelings,”

“I feel pretty good about the whole being alive thing, though,” Ben chimes in.

“Look, I think we need to decide what our plan is here,” Allison says, reasonably, “I mean, we came back in time to stop the apocalypse. If we help Vanya learn to safely control her powers, won’t we have done that?”

“We’ve done it already,” Five says, matter of fact, “if we travelled back to the future we left behind, it would be completely different. We’ve rewritten the fabric of reality.”

“Can we do that?” Vanya asks quietly, “Travel back?”

There is a long pause, as they watch Five with bated breath. He hesitates, pressing his thin lips together tightly, and then his shoulders slump.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “but I think… probably not. The odds of me successfully getting us all back here in one piece were literally one in a million, I don’t think I could do it again.”

Allison makes a broken little noise, and Diego knows she’s thinking about Claire.

“I’ll keep working on it,” Five hurries to say, “but we’ve rewritten the future so drastically at this point… there’s just too many variables.”

“So we have to grow up all over again?” Ben says, pained. They all glance at one another, stricken.

It’s Vanya who breaks this silence; shy, quiet, cataclysmically powerful Vanya.

“We have a second chance,” she says simply, her voice clear and confident, “we can do it better this time.”

She takes Allison’s hand and squeezes, and Allison looks at her with pleading, watery eyes.

“How?” she begs, “How, Vanya?”

“By being a family,” Ben says, slowly, like he’s piecing something together, and Vanya beams at him, “that’s where we went wrong in the first place. We couldn’t stand up to dad’s abuse, not the way we were back then. We were too divided, too isolated. We were falling apart even as kids.”

“So you’re saying we can fix all the shitty stuff we’ve been through, if we just… what? Hang out together more?” Diego says, disbelieving. Allison, though, looks thoughtful, like she’s realizing something.

“He’s right,” she says, sharing a meaningful glance with Ben, “if there’s one thing living through the end of the world has taught me, it’s that…” she looks around at all her siblings, making eye contact with each of them, “I love you. I love all of you. You’re my family, and I care about you all so much,” she takes a shaky breath, “and I never showed it. Not like I should have.”

“If we stick together,” Vanya says, “if we’re united, dad can’t touch us.”

Ben, Allison and Vanya turn to the other three, still clearly unsure.

“It can’t be that easy,” Luther says, cautiously, but Five speaks up, startling them all.

“Maybe it can be,” he says, “maybe all we need to do is try.”

“You’re agreeing with this?” Luther asks, incredulous, and Five shrugs.

“Why not? I mean let’s face it, none of us are exactly going to win best sibling of the year award, as it stands.”

“It makes sense,” Diego chimes in, contemplative, “I mean, Allison and Vanya both got out first chance they got, Luther was on the moon, Ben was fucking dead, and Klaus-” he breaks off, suddenly, and they all look down at their brother’s limp figure, motionless and pale on the bed.

“We failed him,” Diego says, his voice cracking, “all of us, except for Ben.”

Five turns his head to stare out the window with a tightly clenched jaw, and even Luther has the decency to look a little ashamed, for a brief moment, before he reverts back to his natural state of self righteous prick.

“Look, we all had our own problems to deal with,” he starts, “and Klaus was- I mean, it’s _Klaus._ He turned up like once every two years, high out of his mind, and then fucked off again, what were we supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to help him,” Ben says, dangerously calm, rising from his spot on the bed with balled up fists, “he came after you, that night at the rave. I know you remember.”

Luther’s face colors a little, and he sneaks a sideways glance at Allison.

“That- that wasn’t..” he stammers, “I wasn’t in my right mind-”

“You were in your right mind enough to leave him for dead!” Ben shouts, furious “He was withdrawing, and he still came after you! He died that night in the club, I _felt_ it, and you LEFT HIM THERE!”

And it’s at just this moment, Ben squaring off against a horrified Luther, that Klaus wakes up. Diego is closest to the bed, and the first to see his eyes flutter open.

“Guys?” he says.

“I didn’t know,” Luther is saying, backtracking frantically in the face of Ben’s wrath, “I swear to god, Ben, I didn’t- I didn’t even remember anything when I woke up the next day, I never would have-”

“GUYS!” Diego yells, and everyone stops and turns to look at him.

“He’s awake,” Diego finishes, softly, not taking his eyes off the bed where Klaus is struggling weakly upright. Ben’s face lights up, and he looks like he wants nothing more than to rush to his brother’s side, but something keeps them all frozen where they are.

He pushes the sheets slowly off of his lap and stands on shaking legs, and his eyes are like an alien planet, dead and distant as the winter sky. He looks past his siblings like he doesn’t see them at all, and they move wordlessly out of the way as he stumbles blindly across the room to the full length mirror on the opposite wall. Something horrible shudders through him when he sees his reflection, his small body in its old uniform. His hand moves to touch a place on his upper arm where Diego knows he’d had a tattoo, and then comes up to his throat to grab at nothing, instinctually, like he’d thought there would be something there. After an almost unbearable silence, he speaks.

“Get out.” He says, so softly that Diego barely catches it. Allison takes a step forward, holding her hand out soothingly.

“Klaus-” she starts to say, and then Klaus is whirling around looking like nothing Diego has ever seen, stark white, eyes burning in his face.

“Get OUT OF MY ROOM!” he screams, and the window explodes inward, shattered glass tinkling to the ground.

“Vanya?” Luther yells, throwing his arms up to shield his face, but she shakes her head, taking Allison’s hand and backing towards the door.

“Not me!” she says, tense, “We need to leave!”

Klaus is still standing by the mirror, trembling, staring them all down with those dead, blazing eyes, and the shards of glass lying on the floor around him are…. _holy fuck_ , Diego thinks, as they levitate up off the ground.

“Okay, everybody out,” he calls, herding Ben and Luther behind him out the door. Five stares at Klaus for a moment longer, his face unreadable, and then he blinks out of sight.

“We can’t leave him like this,” Ben says frantically, “Diego!”

“S-sorry, Klaus,” Diego stammers, and then he shuts the door, and is left with the others, standing shell-shocked in the hallway. There is what sounds like an explosion inside Klaus’ room, the wall shuddering as objects slam into it, and then a low moaning cry that makes Diego’s heart ache. After this, silence.

“What… just happened?” Allison asks blankly. Diego shakes his head helplessly.

“I have no fucking clue.”

“I do,” Ben says quietly, “I can explain everything, but…” he looks around at all of them, “maybe we should sleep first? We can talk in the morning.”

Numb with exhaustion and still suffering from the lingering effects of time travel, they all agree, and start off in the direction of their own rooms. Diego and Ben linger for a moment longer.

“Ben, come on,” Diego coaxes, clasping his brother’s shoulder, “you need to rest.”

Ben turns away from Klaus’ door with a heavy sigh.

“I know, I just. I don’t really know how to explain it, but... it's not right, when we’re not together.”

Diego gives him a small, tired smile, one that Ben tries but can’t quite manage to return.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

 

Behind the closed door, surrounded by a hurricane of broken glass, paper, and clutter from the shelves, a man in the body of a boy curls himself up in a white-hot ball of agony on the floor. He weeps silently, desperately, weeps for all that he has lost; his hands clasping an imaginary pair of dog tags close to his chest.

 

 *

 

Five sits in the study, perched on an armchair with his fingers steepled under his chin, gazing into the empty fireplace. The imposing grandfather clock stationed in the corner chimes three in the morning, but the Boy has never felt less like sleeping. Five is an old man, an old man who has lived through an apocalypse, taken a short break to murder his way through time, and then returned to a child’s body in order to prevent another one. There is blood on his hands, more blood than he will ever be able to be rid of, and it doesn’t concern him. Five is not a man accustomed to regret.

But still, try as he might, he can’t shake the sharp, churning curl in the pit of his stomach when he remembers the way Klaus had screamed, in the symphony hall, when Luther had grabbed him. He can’t put Klaus’ glazed, empty eyes out of his mind. Five curls tighter on the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his forehead into them. He shouldn’t feel guilty, what options did he have? It was force Klaus’ hand or abandon him in the bad timeline to die a horrible death, and Five may be a vicious, coldblooded assassin, but he… cares, for his brother. Has always cared for him.

Maybe it was a selfish decision, to save Klaus despite his wishes, but Five made the right call, of course he did.

So Jesus, why does he feel so _wrong_?

 

 *

  

“- so that’s where he went, the day of Vanya’s concert,” Ben finishes, “he went to find Dave.”

His siblings are gathered around him in the kitchen, still bleary eyed but listening with rapt attention as he spins a story of foreign wars, love, and impossible circumstances.

“More eggs, Diego dear?” Mom says brightly, turning from the stove, and Diego shakes his head, giving her a gentle smile.

“No thanks, mom.”

She hums and goes back to her pan, and Luther leans forward, still a little wary of Ben after his outburst the night before.

“Can that even happen?” he asks, hesitant, “I mean, him finding another version of the same guy, so many years later?”

“Reincarnation would hardly be the weirdest thing we’ve seen,” Allison points out, “I think it’s pretty plausible. Plus, it would explain…” she trails off, but Ben knows what she’s trying to say. It would explain the Klaus of the past few days, the one who’d come back wrong, sadder and more quiet than any of them can remember him being.

“Okay,” Diego says, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork “yes. That explains why he’s so upset, but it doesn’t explain the whole…” he makes a gesture with his fork-less hand that’s probably supposed to represent the freaky exploding window and levitating glass from the night before.

“We’re sure that Vanya didn’t have anything to do with it?” Luther says, and they all crane their heads to stare at their sister, but she’s quick to deny it, lifting her hands defensively.

“I didn’t, I swear! There was no sound in the room I could have manipulated, and my powers don’t really work like that anyways.”

Five, who has been quiet up till now, nursing his black cup of coffee with a dark expression on his face, speaks up.

“It was Klaus.”

Everyone swivels his or her head back in his direction, and Allison, stunned, says,

“But that’s not… can he do that?”

“He’s always had more untapped potential than any of us gave him credit for,” Five replies, shrugging, “and he’s been high for so long it’s entirely possible he could have abilities even he didn’t know about. ”

“So instead of crazy, drug addict Klaus, we get to deal with sober, angry, what… telekinetic Klaus?” says Diego, dubiously, and everyone looks abruptly worried.

“Guys,” Vanys says, deadly serious, “we can’t let dad find out about this,”

“Why not?” Luther asks, confused, and Vanya sighs.

“Why do you think, Luther? It was brutal enough for Klaus the first time around, when all he could do was see ghosts, how much worse do you think it would be if dad knew Klaus had other powers?”

“He already experimented on Klaus more than anybody,” Ben says quietly, “more than me, even.”

“So we need to swear, right here and now, that none of us will ever tell dad,” Vanya continues, fierce, “we protect each other now.”

“I’m in,” Allison says immediately, “I promise.”

“Me too,” says Diego, and Five nods sharply.

“Luther?” Ben says, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Klaus is my brother too,” Luther replies, quiet but firm, “I care about him, and I’m gonna make up for- for before. Dad won’t get anything out of me.”

Ben concedes to give Luther the barest hint of a smile, and then he pushes his chair back from the table and stands.

“I’m going to check on him,” he announces, and Diego stands too.

“I’ll come with you,” he starts to say, but Ben is already shaking his head.

“No, thanks Diego, but… I think I need to go alone.”

Diego doesn’t look convinced, but he sinks slowly back down in his seat.

“Good luck!” says Allison.

“Let us know if he’s okay,” says Vanya, softly, and Ben nods and turns to leave.

 

“Klaus?” he says, rapping cautiously on his brother’s door once he reaches it. There's no answer from inside, just silence, complete and perfect. Ben knocks again, a little louder this time.

“Klaus, it’s me,” he calls, “it’s Ben,”

There’s another long silence, and Ben is just about to do something crazy like summon his demons to knock the door down, when he hears a soft voice rasp through the door.

“Come in,”

So Ben does, shutting the door behind him and stepping carefully over the broken glass on the floor, feeling it shatter beneath his shoes. There’s a small, blanket covered lump huddled at the corner of the bed, and Ben sits next to it with a sigh. He can just barely see the top of a dark, curly head peeking out from the sheet, and there are some rusty red stains on said sheet that worry him.

“Klaus,” he says gently, “you’re bleeding,”

There’s no answer from the lump, so Ben sighs again and reaches out, carefully pulling the sheet up at the bottom to reveal thin, boney ankles, and bare, bloodied feet. Ben hisses, brushing his fingers carefully over the torn skin and embedded glass.

“We need to get this out,” he says, “Klaus, can you sit up for me?”

Still, no answer, and Ben’s stomach twists.

“Klaus,” he says again, “Please?”

There’s a faint rustling from under the sheets, and Klaus emerges. He pushes himself up shakily to sit against the headboard, refusing to meet Ben’s eyes, and Ben feels the knot in his stomach loosen a little.

“I’m gonna get the first aid kit, okay? I’ll be right back,” he says, soothingly, reaching his hand out slow, like he would approach a wounded animal, and stroking Klaus’ hair.

Surprisingly, Klaus doesn’t pull away, his eyes flutter shut and he pushes his head into Ben’s palm, making a small, wordless little noise. Ben bites his lip hard, and practically scrambles off the bed and down the hallway for the first aid kit in the bathroom. Klaus looks up when he returns, a little more aware of his surroundings.

“Ben?” he whispers, as Ben sets the first aid kit on the bed and carefully lifts one of Klaus’ feet into his lap, “Ben, am I dreaming? Is this a dream?”

Ben swears internally, pausing with his fingers clamped around Klaus’ ankle.

“No, Klaus,” he says finally, grabbing a pair of tweezers and removing a large shard of glass, “it’s not.”

Klaus flinches, hard, from the pain or his words, Ben can’t tell, but he doesn’t dare look at his brother’s face. He continues steadily removing glass, piece by piece until there’s a small, bloody pile in the plastic bag Ben had set out. When he’s sure it’s all gone, he carefully swipes a disinfecting wipe over his brother’s foot, wrapping it in gauze.

“Ben,” Klaus whimpers, and Ben can’t help himself, he looks up to find Klaus staring at him with wild, unseeing green eyes, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Ben,” he repeats, “Ben, I’m never gonna see him again…”

His bird thin shoulders hunch under some invisible weight, and suddenly he’s reaching for Ben in desperate, mindless panic.

“If we’re here that means I never went to Vietnam, Ben, I never even met him, _he doesn’t know me!_ ”

Ben lunges forward and drags Klaus into a full body hug, crushing his brother to his chest and holding him as tight as he can.

“He doesn't know me!” Klaus is wailing, “I found him and I _lost_ him again!”

Ben says nothing. What is there to say? He simply holds Klaus, a strong rock in the face of his brother’s grief, holds him until his sobs start to quiet, and thinks of all the times before he’s wished he could hold Klaus just like he is now.

Klaus goes still in his arms, breathing heavily, and after a long moment, he mutters something, muffled by the fabric of Ben’s shirt.

“What?” he asks, and Klaus lifts his head, red rimmed, watery green eyes meeting Ben’s warm brown.

“You’re here…” Klaus murmurs, reaching up and cupping Ben’s cheek in his hand in wonder, “this isn’t me, doing this, you’re…”

“I’m alive.” Ben finishes, and for a moment, they stare at each other, Klaus incredulous, Ben shy. Then, Klaus smiles, a small, skewed smile, but a real one.

“You’re alive,” he echoes, and then Ben is smiling too, and Klaus is laughing, and Ben is laughing, and both of them are grinning at each other in fierce, unrestrained joy.

“You’re ALIVE!” Klaus whoops, and tackles Ben back onto the bed, uncaring as the first aid kit goes flying onto the floor with a clatter. They curl up next to one another, holding hands the way they used to, when they were as young as their bodies.

“Five’s going to figure out how to get us back to our time,” Ben says, after a moment, “hopefully with me still, you know, in the flesh. We’re going to figure this out, Klaus, I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

Something dark passes over Klaus’ face when Ben mentions Five, there and gone too quickly for him to classify it.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Klaus says, hoarsely, pressing closer to Ben, “you’re here. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

 _Liar_ , Ben thinks, and he presses his forehead to his brother’s and shuts his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with a long one! Things are gonna get worse before they get better, unfortunately. Two things;
> 
> 1.There is no incest in this fic, m'kay? Allison and Luther are NOT a thing. Ben is touchy with Klaus because he hasn't been able to have physical contact with anyone in years, and siblings are physically affectionate.
> 
> 2\. I honestly can't say thank you enough to everyone who has bookmarked, commented, or left kudos on this story. It's a labor of love, and it started out as a passion project that I never ever thought anyone would actually be interested in reading, so the amount of positive reception and feedback I've received just honestly boggles my mind. Thank you all so so much!


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

 

 

Dad comes back the next day, and if he notices that all of them are quieter than they have been previously, he says nothing. He looks suspiciously over the top of his monocle at Vanya, brighter and more alive now that she’s off her medication, but before he can ever comment on it Five or Allison distract him. It’s nice, Diego thinks, easy. Easier than it was the first time around. He guesses this was what Allison, Vanya and Ben meant by sticking together. Knowing that no matter what dad does to him, he has six (well, five, at the moment) siblings there to watch his back… it helps. Even Luther is pulling his weight these days.

When the sun sets, they sneak out all together, to Griddy’s for donuts at Five’s insistence, and then to the nearby park to train. Vanya is improving every day, looking calmer and more in control of her abilities by the minute. She and Allison are a well-oiled team, while Diego and Luther mostly just beat the shit out of each-other; but even this is better, less pointless machismo and barely hidden resentment, and more genuine, good-natured sparring. They all take turns training with Five, and only Vanya can ever seem to hold her own.

Klaus is… absent. Not physically, but he participates almost woodenly; going through the motions like a puppet on strings, his face sharpening by the day as he eats less and less. Diego and Ben keep very careful eyes on him, the first few days, but there are no signs of drugs. Whatever their brother is suffering through, he seems to be committed to sobriety, although if it would bring back the Klaus of old, Diego thinks, in weaker moments, maybe drugs wouldn’t be so bad. Klaus talks to Ben, who plasters himself to his brother’s side with fierce loyalty, and he talks to Diego and Vanya, sometimes. Allison less so, and Luther not at all, no matter how hard Number One tries. Five is a special case, Klaus actively avoids him to the point where he can’t seem to stand to be in the same room, and whenever he enters the kitchen to see Five sitting there, he turns on his heel and leaves. Diego watches his brother’s face when this happens, the painful way it twists, and knows that Five is far more hurt by this than he lets on.

And so it goes, in some ways just as it used to, and yet everything has changed. Diego knows in his heart that the fragile peace they’ve achieved can’t continue. It’s the calm before the storm, and the storm is building on the horizon like a towering wave.

 

 Two weeks later, it arrives.

 

 *

 

“Has anybody seen Klaus?” Ben asks with a frown when he arrives at the park that night.

“He’s not with you?” Diego shrugs, curving his knife into a nearby tree.

“He was with _you_ in the library earlier,” Ben retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, and I’m not his keeper, okay? He’s probably sleeping or something, he doesn’t have to come to training every night,”

“I guess,” Ben sighs, and then Allison calls over from where she’s seated in the grass with Vanya, both of them sweaty and panting.

“You looking for Klaus, Ben?” she says, and Ben turns toward her with a nod.

“He’s with dad,” she says, pushing an unruly lock of hair out of her face, “I saw them together in the hallway after dinner- Ben, what’s wrong?”

Ben has gone white as one of Klaus’ ghosts, and he turns to Diego, absolute panic in his eyes.

“The mausoleum!” he gasps, and Diego feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Diego? What’s he talking about?” Vanya says quietly, she and Allison coming up behind Ben, Luther and Five close behind.

Diego hesitates, shooting a glance at Ben, unsure if this is his secret to tell. He only knows because Klaus used to come to him once in a while, when he didn’t have a place to sleep, and his brother’s dreams weren’t the quiet, happy kind. Ben gives him a grim nod, and looks back to their siblings with his jaw clenched.

“Dad… dad used to lock Klaus in the Mausoleum overnight, when we were kids,” Diego explains, darkly, clenching his fists so tightly his nails bite into his palm.

Allison looks suddenly nauseated, and Vanya presses a hand against her mouth in distress.

“What the fuck are you talking about-” Luther begins to demand, but at just that moment, a tremor shakes through the earth beneath their feet. Five’s eyes slide past Diego to somewhere beyond him in the middling horizon, and he lifts a hand and points a wordless finger. Diego turns around, a lump of dread in the back of his throat, and sees dark clouds building in the sky, flashing with a strange blue light, and seemingly concentrated over-

“That’s St. John’s Graveyard,” Vanya says quietly, and Diego exchanges a look with Ben.

“We need to go,” his brother says, and Diego nods sharply.

“Klaus needs help,” he says to the rest of his siblings, “are you with us?”

“Already there,” Five responds, disappearing in a flash of light, and Allison and Vanya exchange a glance.

“I’m going back to the house to get mom,” Allison says, “something tells me we might need her.”

“And I’m coming with you,” Vanya says, her face set in determination.

“Good,” Diego says, “Luther?”

Luther bobs his head in a yes, and the four of them take off, sprinting towards the distant, alien light flickering in the sky above the graveyard.

“What exactly is the plan here?” Luther pants as they run.

“We don’t need a plan,” Diego snaps back, “we just need to rescue our brother from our psychotic father,”

“Uh, Diego?” Vanya says, jerking to a stop as they break through the tree line and come into sight of the old stone wall bordering the cemetery, “Maybe Klaus isn’t the one who needs rescuing,”

She has to shout to be heard over the mad shrieking of the wind howling around them. It’s like arriving to a scene from a nightmare, the storm clouds building in the sky, the mausoleum, split down the middle and cracked apart like a giant hand had smashed into it and rent it in two. The wreckage strewn around the headstones tells a grim story about what had happened here, and so does Reginald Hargreeves, kneeling on the ground maybe twenty feet away with a worried Pogo by his side. He’s bleeding from a shallow wound on his forehead, missing his monocle, and staring up at the sky with a combination of horror and awe on his face. No, Diego realizes, he’s not staring at the sky, he’s staring at-

“Klaus!” Ben cries, in panic, and Diego realizes that he’d been worried about the wrong thing. He’s been picturing his brother like he was the first time around; a traumatized child, imprisoned in his own personal hell. But Klaus isn’t a child anymore, not really. This is a sober Klaus, a strange, sober Klaus with newly awakened powers, and something in him has snapped. He floats in the sky before them with his arms flung out wide, his eye are glowing holes, his face inhuman, and he’s surrounded by an eerie blue green light. The wind that whips at their clothing is somehow absent around their brother, and the storm clouds continue to build as all around them distorted voices whisper and chant. Out of the corner of his eye, Diego sees faint blue shapes flickering in and out of sight, sputtering into focus like a gas flame. Luther, predictably, has rushed to their father’s side, but there’s no sign of-

“Fuck!” A voice says from beside him, and Five is there, his young face stark with frustration, “I can’t get close to him, there’s something blocking me!”

“Help Luther get dad and Pogo out of here!” Diego yells, shooting Five a glare when the younger looks like he might protest, “ _come on_ , Five!”

Five scowls, but vanishes again; reappearing by dad and helping Luther get the old man to his feet. Diego, Ben and Vanya push forward through the wind, towards their brother’s figure, hovering in the air like a specter.

“Diego, watch out!” Vanya cries suddenly, and shoots out an arm, grabbing his shirt and yanking him back just in time to keep him from falling as a great crack opens up in the ground in front of them.

“Jesus!” Diego swears, as more fissures begin to tear across the cemetery, swallowing up headstones and radiating hellish blue light.

“Is he raising the dead?” Ben shouts, leaping over the chasm and helping Vanya do the same.

"Can he do that?” Diego calls back, the very thought sending a shiver of fear down his spine. He’s never really stopped to consider the implications of his brother’s power, something he is now regretting.

“This would not be an ideal time to find out!” Ben says.

“We have to get close enough to knock him out,” Vanya says grimly, “he’s too far gone to talk him down.”

And Vanya would know a little something about being too far gone.

“How do we do that?” Diego demands, and Vanya turns and calls to Five, who’s left Reginald to Luther and Pogo and is running towards them.

“Five! My violin!” she yells, and he seems to understand, giving her a curt nod and vanishing. She turns back to them, her face set.

“Concussive sound blast,” she says, and both her brothers give her a nervous look.

“Look, I’ve been training, okay? I can handle this,” she says with confidence, her head held high, “I won’t hurt him Ben, I promise,” she finishes, gently, seeing something in his face. Ben doesn’t look happy with the plan, and Diego can’t exactly blame him, but at this point they’re out of options. If Klaus really does start unknowingly animating corpses… well, Diego’s not exactly sure what’s going to happen, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to like it very much.

With a flash, Five is there, Vanya’s violin case clutched in his arms.

“You know what you’re doing?” he says, handing it to her, and she grins.

“For once? Yeah, kinda,” she says, and flips open the latches.

“Diego and Ben, you two get around in front of Klaus and distract him,” she orders, “Five and I will try and sneak around behind so he doesn’t see us coming.”

“I don’t think he can see much of anything right now,” Ben says, his voice cracking, and Diego puts a hand out and squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

“He’s going to be fine, Ben,” he says, “but we have to move.”

Ben takes a shaky breath and nods.

“Right.”

Five grabs Vanya’s hand, and they dart in the opposite direction, weaving around the wreckage of the mausoleum. Diego follows Ben as they make a beeline straight in Klaus’ direction, fighting against the increasingly powerful wind. To Diego’s surprise, none of the swirling debris in the air hits them as they push slowly forward, but the rumbling from under their feet is getting louder, and some of the great chunks of marble from the mausoleum are starting to lift ominously into the air.

“Ben,” he shouts, “you’re going to have to use your powers!”

All the color drains from his brother’s face, and he shakes his head rapidly.

“No!” he says, vehemently, “No fucking way, Diego!”

“You have to!” he responds, desperately, “Vanya's not going to be able to get a clear shot at him floating up in the sky like that, and the only one who can reach him is you!”

“I can’t,” Ben chokes out, shaking, “I’ll tear him apart, I can’t control it-”

“Yes, you can!” Diego says fiercely, “You won’t hurt him, Ben, I know it and you know it. This is our only shot!”

Ben swallows, looking sick to his stomach, and then he looks up at Klaus, floating in the sky, lost to his fear and pain.

“Okay,” he says, and he closes his eyes. Diego turns his head away to give him some semblance of privacy; his brother never liked to be watched when he summoned the demons. Ben makes a low, pained noise, there’s a horrible, wet, ripping sound, and then massive tentacles are shooting past Diego towards Klaus. A few are hit by the flying debris and curl back on themselves, shrieking, but as least five make it through, and twine themselves around Klaus. Ben is sweating, his face strained and a look of intense concentration on his face, but the tentacles begin to slowly reel their brother back to earth. The wind kicks up, so strong that Diego thinks he feels his feet leave the ground for an instant, and the earth trembles again, the light in the sky growing brighter.

“I can’t hold him!” Ben screams, every muscle standing out in stark relief.

“I’m gonna try and get closer,” Diego calls, and he begins to push forward.

“Diego, no!” he hears Ben cry, but as he moves past his brother the wind carries the sound away. He thinks he can hear the distant strains of a violin playing, but he couldn’t be sure.

 _Come on, Vanya,_ he thinks wildly, _any day now…_

Klaus is kneeling on the ground now, just a few yards away, tentacles wrapped around his limbs keeping him pinned. The whirling debris continues to mysteriously avoid Diego, and he’s able to get close enough to reach out and take his brother’s twisted, tear stained face in his hands.

“Come back to us, little brother,” he murmurs, and Klaus’ whole body shudders and jerks, his wide, unseeing eyes rolling backwards in his skull and shutting. The tentacles vanish just as he crumples, unconscious, and Diego lunges forward and just barely manages to catch his brother, lowering him gently to the ground. The wind dies as suddenly as it had come, and there is quiet. Diego looks up at the cloudless nighttime sky, and feels his shoulders slump in exhaustion. He sees Five and Vanya, the latter lifting her violin from her shoulder, looking a little pale, but relieved. Ben charges up to them and falls to his knees, hovering his hands anxiously over Klaus’ limp body.

“Is he okay? Diego, is he okay?” he demands, but Diego has no fucking clue.

“Diego! Vanya!” he hears, and he looks up to see Allison hurrying towards them, Mom following close behind.

“Mom,” he says, and Diego isn’t a child anymore (never mind what he looks like), hasn’t been for a long time, but it’s amazing how just seeing his mother makes him feel like everything's going to be all right.

Mom kneels by Klaus with a serene expression on her face, checking his pulse with a firm, steady hand, lifting up his eyelids to inspect his pupils.

“Mom?” Ben asks, his voice very small, and she beams at him, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm.

“Don’t you worry, Ben, dear,” she says, “Klaus is going to be just fine. He has a mild concussion, and he’ll be quite sore in the morning, but nothing a good weeks rest can’t fix.”

She stands, primly dusting off the front of her apron.

“Diego, dear, won’t you help me get him back to the infirmary?” she asks sweetly, and Diego nods eagerly.

“Of course, mom!”

They leave the cemetery in procession, like some bizarre, fucked up parade; Grace and Diego in front, supporting Klaus between them, Allison, Vanya and Five trailing along after. As the gate (bent sideways and dented but miraculously still intact) swings shut behind them Diego shoots one last glance back at the graveyard, and feels a chill go down his spine. The cracks are still there, dark and jagged, scarring the earth like giant sutures.

 

*

 

“Does it hurt?” Five asks, nonchalantly, the moment Reginald steps into his study, his forehead bandaged. His father startles, almost imperceptibly, clearly not expecting his adopted son to be seated there, in the dark, waiting for him.

“Five,” he says, recovering quickly, “why aren’t you in the infirmary with the others?”

“Answer the question,” Five says, his voice dangerously calm, “Does. It. Hurt.”

Reginald narrows his eyes.

“It’s a relatively minor injury, Number Five. The pain is perfectly manageable, I assure you-”

“Good.” Five replies, cutting him off and standing, suddenly, directly in front of him.

“I know you saw what Klaus did out there tonight,” he begins, conversationally, “and I know that right about now your greedy old fingers must be itching to start experimenting, see just how far he can go with his new powers.”

“Number Four has always possessed a great deal of-”

“Untapped potential, I know,” Five finishes, and then, quick as a viper, he lashes out and grabs ahold of the old man’s tie, yanking him viciously down to eye level with strength no child should posses.

“Number Five!” Reginald barks, “Unhand me this instant!”

“You know, I don’t think I will,” says Five, smiling beatifically, and then the smile slides off his face, and his eyes go dark.

“Listen to me, old man,” he says, and his voice is cold and ancient, “I want you to leave Klaus alone. No more trips to the mausoleum, no more experiments, no more punishments. That goes for all of us.”

He looks up at his father, and lets a tiny sliver of Five the Assassin peek through his eyes. The look of fear on Reginald’s face is the most satisfying thing he could imagine.

“We are not the same children you knew,” he says, quiet and poisonous, “this is our world now, _Dad_ , and I will kindly allow you to continue living in it, on the condition that you relieve yourself of your parental duties.”

He releases the old man, who stumbles back with a look of horror on his face.

“What… are you?” he sputters, and Five grins like a shark, all sharp teeth and bloodlust.

“I’m a fucking gazelle.” He croons, and he spins on his heel and disappears, leaving Sir Reginald Hargreeves alone in a dark study, shaken to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things are going to get better soon, I promise. And yes, I did include my fave Comics!line of Five's, I couldn't resist, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from an Anais Mitchell song, 'Coming Down', and if you like being sad, I would recommend listening to it while you read this.


End file.
